Lessons in Loss
by Lunatique
Summary: Selphie, at ten, has known tragedy and loss in life. But sorrow can teach us as nothing else can.


  
  


_Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, except a couple of minor characters._

  


The snow, it seemed, was endless. What had been a gentle snowfall when he arrived had turned into a relentless drift by the time he came up to the office. Everywhere he looked the world was white and flawless, pure. He was more used to the temperate climate of Balamb and to him snow was a mesmerizing sight, hypnotically beautiful. 

It was a deadly beauty, too, for it could and did kill those unfortunate enough to be caught unawares. 

"It was a car accident?" He asked without turning from the window. 

"Yes." Headmaster Arnold's voice was low. "Mr. and Mrs. Tilmitt and one of their boys died instantly. The other boy died ten hours later. The child...is the only one left. With the Tilmitts gone and your wife--well, you're her only legal guardian." 

Cid Kramer closed his eyes. He imagined he could hear the snow landing on the ground, on the roof, on the window, like the footfalls of children, like the noiseless passage of the years, like regrets and sorrows silent and unspoken. He rubbed his eyes, finally feeling the effects of the long and hurried journey from Balamb. He turned away from the cold whiteness of the window pane to the orange-lit room with its roaring fireplace and tasteful red-toned furniture. 

"I'd like to speak to Selphie now, Headmaster Arnold." 

Arnold walked to his desk and spoke briefly into the intercom. Moments later the office door creaked open and a little girl was ushered in by Arnold's assistant. Cid listened with only half an ear as Arnold asked the young man to bring two coffees and a hot chocolate: His attention was riveted on the little, no tiny, girl standing uncertainly in the doorway. 

She had grown a great deal since he had seen her last, of course, but she was still small for a ten-year-old. Her round green eyes seemed too big for her, as did the bandage that took up most of one cheek and the sling her right arm was in. 

"Hello Selphie, I'm Headmaster Arnold of Trabia Garden." Arnold had closed the door and was directing the child towards Cid. "And this is Headmaster Cid Kramer of Balamb Garden." 

"Nice to meet you." Cid crouched down so he was at eye level with Selphie. "Do you remember me, Selphie?" 

She stared at him a long moment with wide eyes, as if trying to place his face. No wonder--she had last seen him half her lifetime ago. There was an easier way to remind her, he knew, because she would not have forgotten the first mother she had known. But mentioning _her_ name was more than he was willing to face at the moment. 

"You're..." Selphie finally spoke, with a trace of a lisp. "Matron's friend. You came to the orphanage sometimes." 

"Yes," he said gently. The pang that went through him at the mention of his wife was no less painful for being expected. 

Selphie looked from side to side, as if expecting her beloved Matron to be standing in a corner. "Where's Matron?" 

"She's-" Cid paused until he was sure he could trust his voice. "Gone on a trip." If only he knew where. 

"Oh." The child's shoulders sagged. "Will she be back?" 

"Of course." He said, a little too quickly. "Of course," he said again, more to himself than to Selphie. 

At that moment Arnold's assistant arrived with a tray, and the two headmasters led the girl to the couch. Three steaming cups were set on the coffee table--the Trabians well knew the importance of hot drinks--and the young man left, closing the door behind him. 

There was silence as the three sipped their drinks. Cid inwardly thanked Arnold for his consideration as the hot, strong coffee soaked into his system, warming and rejuvenating his tired limbs. 

He watched Selphie put her mug down on the table and did the same himself. "So, Selphie," he said, "do you like Trabia Garden?" 

She nodded wordlessly, brown hair obscuring the face that looked fixedly down at the coffee table. 

"Would you like to stay here?" 

Selphie did not answer or move. The silence dragged on, the occasional cracking of logs in the fireplace the only sound in the room. 

Arnold stood up, murmuring something about paperwork and calling if they needed anything. Cid gave a silent nod of thanks as his fellow headmaster retreated to the office space at the back. Another door shut quietly. 

Selphie still sat unmoving and hunched over. Cid realized that he was familiar with the pose--he, too, had known sudden bouts of paralysis from grief, indecision, loneliness in the days following the disappearance of his wife. Only Selphie's situation was worse, infinitely worse. At least he had some hope of seeing the woman he loved again, though the possibility seemed slim at best. And he was an adult, supposedly self-sufficient and able to take care of himself. 

_No, I'm not._ The despair crashed down on him in an inexorable wave. What business did he have, being "guardian" to the child before him, when he could barely persuade himself to get up every morning, to face another day without his wife? He had failed as a knight, failed as a husband. 

And yet... what else could he do but keep trying, always knowing he could fail? 

He stood up and made his way over to Selphie's chair, where she sat practically buried in the golden-red velvet. He crouched down so he looked slightly up at her. "Selphie?" 

Cid noticed for the first time that Selphie's shoulders were shaking minusculy, and the lap of her little black dress was spotted with moisture. He ducked his head quickly, hiding the tears that welled unexpectedly in his own eyes. His own pain he could take: But the pain of others, especially that of children, never failed to hit him with a poignancy that shook him to the core. 

He took a few moments to compose himself, then stood and very slowly and gently lifted the child from the chair, careful not to jostle her sling. He sat down in the chair with Selphie in his lap, feeling her shaking against him. He simply held Selphie for a long time, the child he and his wife had never had, yet one of his children--and hers. It was an awe-inspiring feeling, to think he held a small part of his wife's soul, a child she had nurtured and loved. He watched as the snow-obscured landscape outside the window darkened, and the hearth blazed ever brighter in the deepening dusk. 

"Selphie," he said when her sobs had died down to occasional hiccups. "I know a lot of people told you you can cry when you need to--and they're right. But when..." he choked, took deep breaths, and tried again. "When you've cried all you want and it's still not enough, I want you to try to be happy, and smile as much as you can. Because you find it rubbing off on you, and you can actually feel cheerful if you keep acting that way." _It's how I go on,_ he added silently. 

He looked down at her and tried to smile, a rather wavery effort. Selphie studied him for a while, then suddenly broke into a teary grin, a rainbow over the grayness of rain. Then she threw her left arm around his neck in a fierce hug, nearly cutting off air: She was a _lot_ stronger than she looked. 

"I'd like to stay at Trabia Garden," said Selphie, speaking for the first time in over an hour. Her voice was hoarse and shaky, but the sound of it sent his heart soaring. Perhaps there was hope after all, for the bereaved child in his lap, for himself, failed but not yet fallen, and perhaps for the woman he loved, somewhere in the wide world. 

  
  


It was snowing considerably less the next day, delicate white flakes floating down from a pearly gray sky. It was unusually fine weather for winter in Trabia. The pilot decided that they could board the transport and fly back to Balamb Garden that very morning, and Cid agreed. 

"It's a gift from the fairies!" Selphie raised her face to the sky, trying to catch snowflakes in her mouth. "My mommy said fairy-snow days are special days." 

"You'll be meeting a lot of special people today," Headmaster Arnold tousled her hair. "You'll be introduced to your new classmates and instructors." 

"She is a remarkable child," said Arnold, as Selphie skipped a little distance away. 

"She may not have been born here, but she's very much a Trabian." Cid smiled. "I hope she heals in time here." Among the independent, courageous people who had made this barren and inhospitable land their home, maybe there was hope even for a little girl who had lost everything. 

"She will--all in good time." They watched Selphie in companionable silence, each secretly wondering, perhaps, what it would be like to try and taste snowflakes again. 

Finally the pilot of the transport approached and saluted the headmasters. "Sir, the aircraft is ready." 

"Well, that's my cue." Cid exchanged parting salutes with Headmaster Arnold, then bent down to look at Selphie, who had come to stand near him again. 

"Good-bye, Selphie." 

"Good-bye." And when she rushed forward to hug him again, he took as much comfort as he gave with the touch. "I hope you meet someone special today, too," she said in his ear. 

Then the child stepped back and imitated the SeeD salute, which he stood and returned, smartly. He gave a last smile. "Remember what I said." 

"I will." And he knew she would. 

There was nothing more to be said. He turned away and walked to the waiting transport. 

_I hope you meet someone special today, too._

Well maybe not that day, maybe even never. But still... maybe, just maybe, someday... "Edea," softly he spoke her name, the first time in months he had even thought it. It didn't hurt as much as he had thought it would. And he dared to hope again, dared once more to ache with hope, and with love. 

The aircraft took to the air and sailed towards the blue-shadowed mountains, towards the pale sea in the distance. And Selphie Tilmitt, two times an orphan, tried to smile as she turned around and walked into the gates of Trabia Garden, and she never looked back. 

  
  



End file.
